


Protasis

by lucymonster



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:26:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which two complicated men grapple with with desire, protocol, and a total inability to communicate clearly with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One of the lesser-known dangers of taking a degree in Classics is that you start thinking of your Ancient Greek textbook as an appropriate source of inspiration for your anime slashfic. For those interested, ‘protasis’ is a linguistics term referring to the ‘if’ clause in a conditional sentence. In other words: “*If Byakuya and Renji hooked up*, it would be pretty hot.” And, um, I swear the title is the only linguistics reference in this fic. So please don’t judge me too harshly.
> 
> This is set between the Fullbringer arc and the Thousand Year Blood War arc. There will be three chapters in total; anyone who’s here just for the smut should look to chapters two and three, when they are posted.

To the casual observer, the scene would have appeared chaotic. The earthquake had torn the town apart from its foundations, leaving in its wake shattered ruins of buildings and the bodies of its many victims. Relief teams scampered through the rubble, tending the wounded and scouting for further survivors.

  
To the less casual observer – one, perhaps, with a little more spiritual strength – the scene would have appeared almost twice as chaotic. A large number of pale, confused-looking souls milled around, and sometimes straight _through_ , the rescue workers, thick metal chains protruding from their chests and setting off an awful chorus of clanking. These souls were being tended to by a team of black-clad soldiers, similarly unnoticed by the rescuers, who spared them not so much as a glance. Adding to the chaos were a number of what could only be fairly described as monsters, gathered at the scene of the disaster like hungry vultures and attempting to attack the frightened spirits of the dead. These were being warded off by another team of soldiers in the same black uniform.

  
In the midst of this pandemonium, our casual observer might have noticed a strange pair of men picking their way lightly through the rubble of what had once been a fashionable shopping strip. One wore a white haori over the standard black uniform. He had a handsome, haughty face, with heavy-lidded eyes and thick lashes, framed by shoulder-length black hair. His companion’s hair was an improbable shade of red, worn in a thick ponytail. Black tattoos mapped their way across his forehead and, going by the glimpses of skin allowed by his uniform, the rest of his body as well. The striking appearance of the two was lost on the rescue workers, who seemed unable to see them.

  
It was not, however, lost on the recently deceased Saito Hiroshi, aged seventeen, whose shift behind the register of a popular fast-food joint on that very strip had been cut short when the building collapsed. Surprised to find himself still conscious post-mortem, and unsure how to proceed, he had sat down beside his own lifeless body and tried to remember what his grandmother had told him about the afterlife. As the two strangers drew closer, it was becoming increasingly difficult to follow this train of thought. The haughty-looking man was moving straight towards him, navigating the wrecked shopping strip with alarming ease and wearing an expression that hovered somewhere between apathy and disdain. He might have appeared less frightening had he not been carrying a naked sword, Hiroshi thought. Or perhaps it wasn’t the sword that was unsettling, but the use it was being put to; for every time the man passed one of the spirits of the victims, he would thump them wordlessly in the forehead with the hilt, and their eyes would widen briefly in terror before they simply _disappeared_. Hiroshi had a strong notion that he didn’t want to be in the way of this man and his sword with its powers of obliteration, but he was having a difficult time convincing his legs to move him out of harm’s way.

  
“…still don’t get why they sent us, though,” the redhead was saying. Hiroshi was less concerned about this man: he, too, was carrying a sword, but his trajectory bore rather to the left of his companion’s and Hiroshi was sure he would pass him by without seeing him. “Hardly a job for captain-class guys, is it?”

  
The haughty man swung his hilt into the forehead of a small girl without looking at her. “It is merely a precaution,” he said, tone impassive, as the girl faded into thin air. “So many dead spirits in one place tend to attract Hollows. Proper procedure dictates that squads deployed to disaster zones should contain at least one Shinigami of captain class.”

  
The redhead rolled his eyes behind the other man’s back. “Ok, sir, but why are we _both_ here?”

  
“I was given orders to accompany the squad. I brought you because the mission provides a good opportunity for me to observe your leadership skills on the field.”

  
“Right,” muttered the redhead, not looking entirely satisfied with this answer. Then he shrugged, and grinned at the haughty man, who still had his back to him. “But you know, Kuchiki-taichou…I think your konso method is, uh, scaring the pluses…”

  
The man called Kuchiki ignored this, throwing off two rapid blows with his hilt and causing the petrified elderly couple before him to vanish.

  
His companion persisted. “I mean, it’s nicer to stop and talk to them a bit, you know? Let ‘em know what you’re doing, where you’re sending them, that kinda thing.”

  
Kuchiki turned at this, arching a brow. “Why? They’ll figure it out on arrival. We’re here to work, Renji, not to socialise.”

  
Renji looked both amused and exasperated. “Understood, sir. But is it ok if I reassure them a bit, long as I keep it quick?”

  
“Do as you please,” said Kuchiki indifferently.

  
He was right in front of Hiroshi now. This was it. Trembling all over, Hiroshi forced himself to look up. Kuchiki’s unreadable gaze was fixed on Renji, who had knelt down beside a young woman not far off and was addressing her with words of comfort that Hiroshi couldn’t hear. This temporary diversion of Kuchiki’s attention allowed Hiroshi to gather up the last shreds of his courage and speak.

  
“Excuse me,” he said, dimly aware that his voice was shaking as badly as his limbs. “What…what’s going on? Am I…I mean, what are you about to do to me?”

  
Cool grey eyes turned to him. Kuchiki blinked, seemingly surprised at being addressed. “You’ve died,” he said bluntly. “I’m sending you on.”

  
Hiroshi fought hard not to whimper in fear. “Sending me…on? I don’t-”

  
The sword hilt rapped him sharply on the brow, and Saito Hiroshi experienced a split second of pure, unadulterated panic before the world disappeared and he crossed over.

  
-

  
Renji leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, fighting back a yawn. The sun had long since set outside his window, and if he’d been working under any _normal_ captain he’d have been well and truly off duty by this hour. But Kuchiki-taichou’s personal take on working hours seemed to have little to do with considerations of health or sanity, and the man was still firmly installed in his office attending to his paperwork. Renji was determined not to leave before him, but his resolve was being sorely tested. Didn’t Kuchiki-taichou ever need to _rest_?

  
It had occurred to Renji more than once that his captain’s always-formidable work ethic had been even more apparent than usual over the past couple of weeks. This wouldn’t have stood out if the workload had been heavier than usual, but unless Kuchiki-taichou was keeping a large body of extra paperwork secret from his lieutenant (which, to be fair, was possible), then it was about the same as usual – not light, but also not heavy enough to warrant so many extra hours logged in the office.

  
Renji had a funny feeling that he knew what had prompted this extra show of zeal. And, since it was really his fault to begin with, there was nothing for it but to act the dutiful subordinate and match Kuchiki-taichou’s ridiculously extended working hours. After all, it just wasn’t polite to leave work before his superior.

  
There was no ulterior motive. The fact that the rest of the division had already retired, leaving Renji and Kuchiki-taichou alone together, had nothing to do with it. There was no discussion to be had between them that required privacy; nothing that could not just as easily take place in the middle of the day in eye- and ear-shot of the rank and file. At an hour like this there was _no_ real reason for them to interact, which was why Renji was _not_ straining his ears in the silence of the empty offices for any sounds of movement that might herald his captain’s appearance in the open doorway. Nor, for that matter, was he mentally rehearsing the things he might say should his captain happen to approach him that night. He was in the office at that hour because he was a good lieutenant, and that was all.  
  
It was three weeks since they had come back from the World of the Living, having restored Kurosaki Ichigo’s powers and disposed of the Fullbringers. Three weeks since he had followed Kuchiki-taichou back to the office, both of them newly healed but still dishevelled and covered in dirt and dust and blood. And although Kuchiki-taichou carried himself with the same regal composure as usual, although his calm expression was firmly in place, the air around him seemed to _crackle_ with barely-contained reiatsu. There was not, Renji had realised, a trace of anger in his aura. And so he had pushed the boundaries, as he had become more accustomed to doing in recent months.  
  
“You seem worked up, sir,” he had said casually. “Good fight, was it?”  
  
Kuchiki-taichou had looked at him, then, and although his expression didn’t change, his grey eyes were alight with reckless energy. “It was,” he agreed. The faintest trace of a smile curled the corners of his mouth. “I have never fought with such abandon before. It was...exhilarating.”

  
This admission pleased Renji. Not so very long ago, Kuchiki-taichou would not have seen fit to disclose his post-battle sentiments to his lieutenant. Aizen’s defection and the subsequent war had wrought changes in both of them, however. Kuchiki-taichou had thawed considerably – he talked more, and listened more, and generally made himself more approachable. Renji had grown stronger and more confident, and had left behind the seething resentment and terror that used to sizzle through his veins whenever Kuchiki-taichou was near. This made it considerably easier to work with the man, and little by little, in defiance of all probability and expectations, the relationship between them had turned into…well, ‘friendship’ would be pushing it much too far, but there was a kind of respectful camaraderie between them now. Renji’s admiration no longer burned him; the heat his captain’s gaze stirred in him had taken on a different quality, far less painful, a heat he sought out more and more.

  
That heat seemed to shimmer in the air between them now, fuelled by the fierce energy of Kuchiki-taichou’s reiatsu.

  
“What was it that happened, sir?” Renji asked. “I thought once that guy cut you he kinda took over your memories, and, well…” He gestured wordlessly at the slash in Kuchiki-taichou’s shihakusho and the recently-healed wound beneath it.

  
“Correct,” said Kuchiki-taichou. “He established himself as my mentor in swordsmanship, and inserted himself into Senbonzakura’s past to learn my techniques and their counters.”

  
Renji stared. “So how’d you get past him?”

  
“I improvised.”

  
So that was it. Renji knew how much his captain valued preparation, how devoted he was to achieving mastery of every technique in his arsenal. This must have been the first time his captain had let go and just _fought_. Renji knew well how exhilarating that experience could be.

  
He wasn’t expecting Kuchiki-taichou to offer any further comment, so the next admission took him by surprise. “For a moment, I wasn’t actually sure if I could beat him.”

  
It might have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but Renji worked with Kuchiki-taichou every day, knew all of his mannerisms like the back of his own hand, and there was just the slightest tremble in Kuchiki-taichou’s voice as he spoke. Renji’s first thought was that Kuchiki-taichou was ashamed, but then he saw it, faint but unmistakeable: the tiniest smirk on his captain’s lips.

  
 _Holy shit,_ thought Renji, _he’s fucking exhilarated._

  
It struck Renji then that they were standing rather closer together than was strictly necessary. It was as though the wild pulse of his captain’s reiatsu was pulling him in, infecting him with the same euphoria shining in those usually blank grey eyes.

  
It really was intoxicating, that energy. They were closer still, but Renji couldn’t remember either of them having moved. Fifty years of watching and waiting, of burning resentment and aching desire, were pounding in his ears, blotting out all rational thought. And so without thinking, without pausing to consider the outcome of his actions, Renji moved in closer until he was almost nose to nose with Kuchiki-taichou.

  
“I know that feeling, sir,” he murmured.  
  
Then their lips touched, and the rest of the world faded into total irrelevance.  
  
Kuchiki-taichou reacted almost immediately, and Renji found himself slammed hard against the office wall, his head spinning and his heart racing as Kuchiki-taichou kissed him as though he wanted to completely devour him. It didn’t even cross his mind to struggle for control of the kiss, and he could practically _taste_ the adrenaline on the other man’s tongue, could feel the frantic beating of Kuchiki-taichou’s heart as he clung desperately onto the front of his shihakusho and prayed for this never to stop.  
  
His prayers, alas, had gone unheeded. Kuchiki-taichou had pulled away moments later, the exhilaration in his eyes rapidly giving way to something that looked rather like panic.

  
“Um,” he had said after a long and horribly awkward pause.

  
“Er,” Renji had added helpfully.

 

Then Kuchiki-taichou had departed – _bolted_ , almost – leaving a rumpled, flushed and utterly shell-shocked Renji to peel himself off the wall and make his way back to his quarters for a night of very disorienting dreams.

  
Three weeks later, Kuchiki-taichou seemed to have himself firmly convinced that the incident had never taken place. And so Renji, too much of a coward to burst his captain’s bubble of denial, was whiling away the long evenings in his office trudging through every available scrap of paperwork and emphatically _not_ expecting anything to come of it.

  
He looked down at the page in front of him. A request for a transfer of sleeping quarters from one of the recent recruits, who apparently wasn’t getting along very well with his next-door neighbour in the barracks. God, was he scraping the bottom of the barrel now. Crap like this should have been sent off to one of the lower-ranking administrative officers, but he’d deliberately hung on to a stack of these things, knowing he’d need an excuse to stay in the office once his own paperwork inevitably ran out. Why couldn’t the captain just go _home_ already? If he wanted to avoid Renji, he didn’t need to hide behind a ridiculously padded-out workload. It would have made so much more sense to stay out of the office as much as possible. Was he trying to prove something?

  
Renji yawned again. A split second later, he realised he had forgotten to stifle it.

  
“Retire for the day, Renji.” Kuchiki-taichou’s voice filtered clearly through the wall dividing their offices.

  
_Damn it._

  
“It’s fine, taichou,” he called back, trying to sound as peppy as possible to make up for his show of weakness. “I’ve still got work to do.”

  
Kuchiki-taichou didn’t reply. Renji made a brave attempt at returning his attention to his work. He was so tired that the words were starting to blur together…there was no helping it…if Kuchiki-taichou didn’t finish soon, he was going to have to leave anyway…

  
His head jolted back up as Kuchiki-taichou appeared in front of his desk. _How the hell does he move so quietly?_

  
“You have been detained here by pressing business, I see,” said the captain, examining the paper between them and raising an eyebrow.. Their sudden proximity set Renji’s heart racing in his chest, but Kuchiki-taichou didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on the paper on Renji’s desk, as though its contents genuinely interested him.

  
“Well…” Renji faltered. “That is…it’s rude to leave before you, sir.” His captain didn’t look the least bit tired, he noticed. His shoulders were perfectly straight, his face a mask of cool composure, his eyes alert and unreadable.

  
Renji remembered how those eyes had looked when that composure faltered; how that gaze when it fell on him had seemed to scorch him with is heat. The air felt thicker than it usually did, and he looked down quickly.

  
“Ruder still to ignore a direct dismissal, however,” said Kuchiki-taichou. His tone wasn’t sharp, but nor did it invite dissent. He turned to leave, still without looking at Renji. “Retire for the night. There’s no need for you to be here.”

  
“Thank you, sir,” Renji responded mechanically. Inwardly he cursed his own passivity, his inability either to forget what had happened or to insist upon bringing it up. What would happen if he just reached out and caught Kuchiki-taichou’s sleeve, forced Kuchiki-taichou to look him in the eye, and demanded to know what Kuchiki-taichou wanted from him?

  
_I’d be lucky to live._

  
And then Kuchiki-taichou was gone, and there was nothing for Renji to do but put away his things and close up his office and head back to his room in the barracks for the night.

  
And if the faintest sigh had happened to escape Kuchiki-taichou’s lips as he returned to his desk and his half-completed budget report that wasn’t due for several weeks, then Renji wasn’t around to hear it.

  
-

  
“Yo, Kuchiki.”

  
Byakuya closed his eyes, trying to suppress the wave of reflexive irritation that coursed through him at the sound of that voice. When that proved ineffective, he opened them again and turned reluctantly to face his assailant.

  
“Zaraki. How unlike you to arrive early for a meeting.”

  
Zaraki Kenpachi was lounging against the wall of the meeting room in the First Division compound, as unsightly as ever with his torn shihakusho and a smear of dirt on his jaw. “Training finished early,” he explained, apparently choosing to interpret Byakuya’s jab as an expression of sincere interest. “All my blokes wimped out before I even got warmed up, so I figured I’d just kill time ‘round here. Hey, wanna go a quick round before the geezer gets here? Reckon there’s enough time to kick your ass…”

  
“I decline.”

  
Zaraki heaved a bored sigh. “Knew you’d say that.”

  
Silence reigned for a few precious moments. Byakuya resisted the urge to mimic Zaraki’s comfortable posture against the wall. He didn’t intend to let it show, but he was tired. Sleep had been eluding him lately, and his methods of whiling away the moonlit hours – reading, mostly, and strolling through his gardens, and practicing calligraphy – did wonders for the soul but frustratingly little for the weary body. To be honest he found it a little disconcerting, the extent to which his recent bout of insomnia was wearing on him. He’d never been much of a sleeper: five or six hours usually sufficed, and at a pinch he could function perfectly well on much less. The couple of hours rest he was able to snatch before dawn weren’t ideal, but they shouldn’t be leaving his body feeling so heavy, his mind so hazy.

  
His train of thought was interrupted by the unnecessarily flamboyant arrival of Kyouraku Shunsui, who somehow contrived to make his bright kimono swirl dramatically about him as he appeared in the doorway. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he greeted his colleagues. “I hope I find you well?”

  
“Quite,” said Byakuya, trying not to look at the fluttering kimono, which inexplicably made him feel rather dizzy this morning. “And yourself?”

  
Kyouraku heaved a dramatic sigh. “Alas, far from it,” he said, taking his place next to Byakuya. “My Nanao-chan gave me the most fierce telling-off this morning, and I begin to fear that she will never be persuaded to love me.”

  
Byakuya deemed this line of conversation unworthy of his engagement, and wondered if ignoring it would discourage the other man or simply provide him with the opportunity to enlarge upon his woes. Zaraki had his own ideas, however.

  
“What did you do?” asked the Eleventh Division captain, looking mildly curious – although not curious enough to stand up straight, apparently.

  
“I failed to rise at what she deemed an appropriate hour,” said Kyouraku, expression comically morose. “She has accused me of laziness and irresponsibility.”

  
Zaraki snorted. “Gee, that’s a new one.”

  
Byakuya tuned out the ensuing inane banter, his mind wandering instead to the subject to be broached in today’s meeting. He was not looking forward to it. One of his soldiers was soon to face trial for misconduct during last week’s mission cleaning up after an earthquake in the World of the Living. It seemed that the boy - he was barely old enough to be called a man - had taken it upon himself to hurry along the fate of a soul who was still alive. The punishment for such actions could be severe - the law strictly prohibited Shinigami from intervening in the natural cycle of life and death of humans.

  
Byakuya had interviewed him briefly, while he was detained in the Sixth Division’s holding cells. The boy had made no attempt to conceal his crime, and had appeared frightened but unrepentant as he explained that the human in question had sustained horrendous injuries and looked to be beyond recovery when he found her.

  
“She could see me, taichou,” he had said, his voice trembling slightly. “She could see me, and she was begging me to help her die, she was in so much pain.”

  
Byakuya felt some sympathy for the boy. One of the more difficult tasks of the Shinigami was to learn to witness human suffering impassively, to overcome the urge to take pity on living souls and interfere with the hands that fate had dealt them. Byakuya himself didn’t find it easy to suppress the instinctive horror of seeing such agony, or the desire to step in and alleviate that agony where he could - empathy was a natural trait, and all his years as a Shinigami and all the attending scenes of disaster he had witnessed had not made him immune to it. He could understand, then, that for a mere youth, fresh out of the Academy with no real experience on the job, the mission must have been confronting.

  
However, the law existed for a reason. Shinigami were not gods. It was not their place to decide the lifespan of humans. Theirs was to guide dead souls into the afterlife, to purify Hollows, to maintain the balance between the two worlds. There could be no exceptions made - the fate of the living was outside their jurisdiction, and those who sought to subjugate human fate had to be punished, regardless of the purity of their intentions.

  
Furthermore, the incident did not exactly reflect well on Byakuya. As the commanding officer on the scene, he should have ensured there was sufficient supervision to prevent such a transgression from occurring. He should have kept a closer eye on the more inexperienced squad members who had yet to prove their ability to handle their responsibility on the field.

  
His excuse - that the widespread nature of the disaster, the chaos and the sheer scope of the operation made it implausible for him to monitor the actions of every single squad member - would be sufficient for the captain-commander, but it didn’t satisfy Byakuya. There were, he reminded himself, two people present that day who were capable of commanding and supervising the troops. He had taken his lieutenant with him, after all, and he should have divided the squad between the two of them, and each kept a closer watch over a smaller group. There was no guarantee that such a measure would have prevented what had happened, but it would certainly have been more effective than the arrangement he had preferred.

  
He was thoroughly irritated with himself.

  
Routine was not the same as safe - he knew that perfectly well. And yet he had persuaded himself that there was no need for stringency on such a routine mission, and had foregone sensible precautions in favour of personal indulgence. For he had enjoyed the company of his lieutenant, enjoyed the casual banter as they trudged their way through an otherwise dreary task. He had been very deliberately avoiding unnecessary interaction with Renji since _that incident_ , had not trusted himself to be alone with him for any length of time. But out in the field, surrounded by his troops and with a shared task in front of them, Renji’s presence had not seemed a threat. He had been able to relax and simply enjoy the time spent with the other man. His selfishness had promptly and predictably led him into trouble, as it always did.

  
If only he didn’t have such a foolish heart.

  
Well, he would make his excuse and his apology anyway, and then he would petition on behalf of his convicted subordinate for a reasonable sentence - for a firm punishment, but not an overly severe one. And then he would spend the rest of the day working hard enough to blot out any conflict in his heart, any memories he shouldn’t linger on or desires he shouldn’t cherish. And then perhaps - _perhaps_ \- he might actually get some sleep tonight.

  
Yamamoto-soutaichou cleared his throat, and Byakuya was jolted out of his thoughts to realise that the hall had filled and the meeting was about to begin. He really was tired; lack of sleep had never made him so unobservant before. Biting back an irritable sigh, he steeled himself to make his report.

  
-

  
Night fell over Seireitei without any particular fanfare. An intrepid but somewhat foolish wood-mouse, shunning the furtive habits of its forefathers, ventured out of the shelter of the trees to the grassy plains beyond in search of adventure; a young scops owl, stunned by its own good fortune, enjoyed a far heartier dinner than its usual fare of crickets and small lizards. Several upperclassmen at the Shin’ou Academy snuck out of their dormitories to share a bottle of contraband liquor behind the Zanjutsu training hall.

  
In his small but comfortable sleeping quarters at the Sixth Division barracks, Abarai Renji slept fitfully. He dreamt of heat and frustration; of pale skin and inky black hair; of steely grey eyes and a slender, well-muscled body pressed against him.

  
In a large, sparsely furnished room overlooking a gently bubbling stream and a tidy moonlit garden, Kuchiki Byakuya sat sleepless at his low desk and tried, with limited success, to train his weary mind on the joys of classical literature.

  
And in a cold, dark holding cell in the Sixth Division compound, Itou Susumu, recent graduate of the Shin’ou Academy and unseated officer of the Gotei 13, stared miserably up at the shadowy ceiling, the desperate pleas of a dying stranger echoing in his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be aware that the rating comes into play here, and things get quite smutty towards the end of the chapter.
> 
> Thank you to those who left kudos, I really appreciate it - hope this installment doesn't disappoint!

“Is it true, sir? That Itou-san is going to be executed?”

 

Renji bit back a swell of impatience. He had just rounded up a training session with the new recruits; he was tired and hungry, and longing to get inside out of the sun. His irritation evaporated, however, when he saw the face of the girl who had cornered him. She looked pale and drawn, dark shadows under her eyes, mouth set in a grim line. She was close to Itou, he knew; the two of them tended to stay close to each other during training, and he often saw them together in the mess hall.

 

“Dunno where you got that from,” he said, mopping his brow casually. “He screwed up, but not _that_ bad. Anyway, his trial’s not for another week.”

 

The girl’s expression didn’t shift. “I’m very sorry to trouble you, Abarai-fukutaichou. It’s just that Miyamoto-san was saying that it’s a capital offense, what Itou-san did. He says they’ve probably already decided to execute Itou-san, and the trial is just a formality.”

 

Renji gave the girl a reassuring smile. “Miyamoto’s an idiot,” he said confidently, although he honestly couldn’t put a face to the name at that moment. “Execution’s the maximum penalty, but they don’t do that unless someone gets really out of control, running around killing humans just for the fun of it. Worst case scenario for Itou is if he gets discharged, but taichou’s working to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

 

Ok, maybe he shouldn’t have said that last bit. Kuchiki-taichou _was_ working on the case, but he hadn’t seen fit to tell Renji exactly what he was doing or what punishment he was recommending for his errant subordinate. For all Renji knew, his captain was sitting at his desk right this moment, drafting a proposal to have Itou permanently cast out of the Gotei 13. He didn’t think it was likely, but then, Kuchiki-taichou’s views on crime and punishment had been somewhat unpredictable ever since his sister’s near-execution all that time ago. The incident had prompted him to reconsider his black-and-white approach to the law, but he was still a strict disciplinarian, and it was hard to guess at which rules he would cheerfully bend and which he would enforce to the fullest and most brutal extent of his power. For example, he now allowed Renji all kinds of license when it came to asking too many questions, back-chatting his captain and occasionally even having fun at his expense, but none of that had stopped him from assigning Renji a huge stack of mind-numbing paperwork as punishment when he apprehended him not wearing his lieutenant’s badge while on duty at ten o’clock in the evening in his own office with nobody else around to see him.

 

So, in short, Renji wasn’t sure what his captain intended to do about this kid Itou. He thought he should probably check up on that, if he was going to need to quash the frightened rumours already making the rounds of the division.

 

The girl looked slightly less anxious for his reassurance, and so he took his leave, heading straight to his captain’s office. Ignoring the jolt in his stomach - he was getting used to it by now - he knocked softly at the door.

 

“Enter.”

 

Renji bowed and entered the room. “Forgive my intrusion, taichou.”

 

Kuchiki-taichou was not behind his desk, as Renji had expected. He was standing in front of one of the bookshelves that lined his office, tracing the spines with a finger as he searched for something. His other arm cradled several hefty-looking tomes. He set these down and turned to face Renji.

 

“It’s fine,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

 

Renji felt the usual flutter rise in his midriff as his captain’s gaze fell on him. He forced it down; this wasn’t the time for it. “I wanted to talk to you about Itou, sir,” he said.

 

Kuchiki-taichou’s expression didn’t budge. “Carry on.”

 

“I wondered if you could give me anything to tell the troops,” said Renji. “There are rumours already, saying he’s going to be executed, and the rookies are starting to get scared.”

 

“I see.” Kuchiki-taichou turned away again, resuming his scanning of the bookshelves. “Have you informed them that the trial has yet to take place?”

 

“I have, sir. It’s not enough for them.” Renji stepped further into the room, approaching the vacant desk and examining the books his captain had recently set down. Legal texts. Court records. Several volumes on statute interpretation. “Er...do you need help finding something, sir?”

 

“I’m looking for- ah, here it is.” He retrieved a large legal encyclopaedia from the top shelf and added it to the pile on his desk. “As you can see, I’m looking into the issue at present. I can’t yet say what the punishment might be. Rest assured, however, that it will not be execution.”

 

Renji nodded. He was glad to hear his captain confirm this, but it didn’t do much to solve the issue he’d come with of needing to calm the speculation among the troops. “Can I ask, sir...what kinds of options _are_ there for dealing with him?”

 

Kuchiki-taichou hesitated. “Probation at the very least,” he answered at length, his tone unreadable. “A period of suspension. A fine. A term of imprisonment. Possibly expulsion.”

 

“And you-”

 

“I told you, I don’t know.”

 

The hint of impatience in his tone made Renji wince; he backpedalled quickly. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I didn’t mean to push.”

 

“Hm.” Kuchiki-taichou sat back down at his desk. “Was there anything else?” he asked, no longer sounding sharp, but a clear dismissal in his voice.

 

“No, taichou.” Renji bowed, and took his leave. He only got as far as the door.

 

“Actually, Renji…”

 

Startled, Renji turned to face his captain. “Sir?” The man wasn’t normally the indecisive type – when he dismissed you, he dismissed you.

 

“What are your thoughts on the case?” He had turned his back to Renji, gazing out the window behind the desk. His voice sounded light and conversational, and anyone else would have thought it was a casual question of no particular importance. Renji knew better. Kuchiki-taichou did not make small talk, certainly not with his subordinates; Renji’s answer clearly mattered to him. Some kind of test, perhaps?

 

“You know the law better than me, taichou,” Renji replied, hedging his bets.

 

A tense pause. “It is unlike you not to have an opinion,” said Kuchiki-taichou at length. “I will ask again. What are your thoughts?”

 

“Well…” said Renji hesitantly, still trying to spot the catch. “I can see both sides of the argument, sir. The kid was doing what he thought was right, and he didn’t really cause any harm – the human was mostly dead already, far as I’ve heard. But,” he added quickly, “the law’s the law, I respect that. He knew what he was doing.”

 

“Indeed.” Renji could hear the frown in Kuchiki-taichou’s voice, although he did not turn from the window. Silence fell, and Renji was left with the uncomfortable impression that he was expected to say something more, although he had no idea what. He still wasn’t entirely sure where this was going.

 

“Sir?” he ventured, when the silence started to unnerve him a little.

 

“The law’s the law, you said,” murmured Kuchiki-taichou, so softly that Renji barely caught it. “But I don’t think you really believe that.”

 

“Sir…”

 

“In his situation, would you have done the same thing?” At last the captain turned around, and sharp grey eyes met Renji’s own. “Would you at least have considered it?”

 

Renji’s first instinct was to deny this, but something in his captain’s expression gave him pause. Kuchiki-taichou looked just slightly unsure of himself, and it dawned on Renji that he wasn’t being tested – he was being asked for advice.

 

“I…I might have, yeah,” he admitted. He felt completely wrong-footed – since when was he someone whose opinion Kuchiki-taichou took into account?

 

A long pause followed this. “Exceptions cannot be made,” said Kuchiki-taichou eventually, his tone rather halting. “Law-breakers have to be taken to account, or the whole system would be useless.”

 

“Of course,” said Renji. “So I guess it’s a question of how hard you come down on him.”

 

Kuchiki-taichou seemed to consider this. The silence dragged on so long that Renji wondered if he was being silently dismissed. Just as he was about to go, Kuchiki-taichou looked up and met his eyes again, and his gaze was probing, searching for something Renji couldn’t identify. Without thinking, Renji stepped forward, knowing he shouldn’t hold his superior officer’s gaze for so long but reluctant to break contact.

 

“And you yourself would favour leniency,” said Kuchiki-taichou.

 

Renji swallowed. “I would, sir.”

 

Slowly, still frowning slightly, Kuchiki-taichou reached out a hand and brushed a loose strand of hair behind Renji’s ear. Renji held his breath; the light brush of those fingertips at his temple sent a shiver down his spine.

 

“I thought you might.”

 

“…taichou?”

 

And then the spell broke, and Kuchiki-taichou jerked his hand back, looking startled.

 

“Taichou-”

 

“You’re free to leave, Renji,” said Kuchiki-taichou shortly. He returned to his desk, snatching up a book from the pile and placing it in front of him as though he wanted to create a barrier.

 

Renji swallowed. “Kuchiki-taichou, what was-”

 

“An accident. My apologies.”

 

_Like hell it was an accident._ Renji’s pulse had quickened, and his face felt rather hot all of a sudden. Taichou had definitely...just for a second...

“You’re free to leave,” repeated the captain, and his expression when he looked back up at Renji was almost _too_ blank. “I have work to do.” He dropped his gaze promptly to the book before him to illustrate the point.

 

But when he stepped outside the office and took a deep, shuddering breath, Renji could have sworn he felt those eyes on him through the opaque door.

 

-

 

The rest of the day crawled slowly by. Renji could barely focus; he kept turning Kuchiki-taichou’s strange behaviour over in his head, trying to figure out what it meant. He had not seemed out of sorts at all – well, ok, his seeking _advice_ from Renji was a little odd, but Renji was more than happy to ascribe that to the recent changes in Kuchiki-taichou’s world-view and the considerable improvements in their working relationship. But then Kuchiki-taichou had _reached out_ to him…and perhaps it was wishful thinking, but now Renji was _sure_ that his captain hadn’t forgotten about their kiss any more than he had.

 

He had fully intended to stay late in the office again - if anything was going to happen, surely tonight would be the night for it - but Kuchiki-taichou had evicted him promptly and firmly as soon as he had heard the first trickle of homebound soldiers out in the hall, insisting he looked too tired and distracted to be of any more use that day.

 

And that was how Renji _knew_ that something was the matter between them. Kuchiki-taichou’s usual strategies for curing his subordinates of distraction tended to be light on early-marks and heavy on punitive measures and extra assignments. Ejecting a subordinate from the office who _wanted_ to work overtime was unprecedented and remarkably out of character.

 

The question was, what was Kuchiki-taichou feeling that was causing all this tension? Was he struggling heroically to suppress an unseemly attraction to Renji? Or was he instead trying to suppress a memory that shamed and disgusted him? Was he angry with Renji for compromising their professional relationship? Was he anxious that Renji might reveal what had passed between them  and damage his reputation?

 

The captain was giving him nothing to go on.

 

Feeling confused and frustrated, he headed straight for the pub. With all the late nights he’d been working recently, it had been a while since he’d gone and had a few drinks with his friends. Technically he hadn’t been invited anywhere, but he was bound to run into someone who’d welcome him as a drinking buddy.

 

He was slightly surprised to find Rukia there, wedged in at a table between her two Third Seats, who appeared to be having a drinking contest. He didn’t want to interrupt, but she caught sight of him and immediately sprang to her feet.

 

“Please excuse me,” she said to her companions, who were too busy glaring at each other over the rims of their cups to pay much attention. “Renji! What are you doing?”

 

“I was gonna ask you that,” replied Renji. “I’m just killing time.”

 

Rukia glared enviously at him. “Those two have been pestering me to come out for weeks,” she said, glancing back at her boisterous Third Seats. “I ran out of excuses.”

 

Renji chuckled. “I can see that.” He peered around, spotting an empty table in the corner of the room. “Wanna have a drink with me instead? They look pretty well occupied.”

 

They made their way to the free table, unnoticed by Rukia’s former companions. For a time they drank in silence, Renji struggling to stop his thoughts from drifting outside of the pub.

 

It was Rukia who spoke first. “Has work been busy?” she asked, reaching over to refill his glass.

 

Renji shrugged. “Kind of. One of our guys got in some trouble on a Real World mission, his hearing comes up next week.”

 

“I did hear a rumour,” Rukia admitted. She hesitated a moment, then continued with a grimace: “someone said he was going to be executed.”

 

“ _Someone’s_ talking a load of crap,” said Renji impatiently. “I figured taichou would have told you the full story, though.”

 

Rukia shook her head. “Nii-sama’s barely been home,” she said, sounding suddenly rather wistful. “By the way, Renji...do you know if something’s...well, bothering him?”

 

Renji concentrated on keeping his expression neutral. Yeah, he knew something was bothering Kuchiki-taichou, alright. But it wasn’t something he felt like sharing with Rukia at this point. Or possibly ever. “When was the last time you caught me and your brother having a heart-to-heart?” he replied instead.

 

“That’s true.” Rukia gave a tiny sigh. “I probably shouldn’t worry. He just seems a bit out of sorts, and it’s odd that he’s spending so much time away from home. But you can never tell, with nii-sama.”

 

Renji drank to that.

 

“I thought he’d want to be home today,” Rukia continued, emptying her own cup; Renji refilled it absently. “But he said he’d be working late again. It’s the anniversary, you know.”

 

Renji froze, his hand still holding the sake bottle over Rukia’s cup. “Your sister?”

 

“Yeah.” Looking bemused, Rukia took the bottle firmly from his hand and set it back down. “What’s the matter, Renji?”

 

“Nothing.” Renji blinked several times to clear his head and slouched back in his seat.

 

Well, he felt kind of stupid now. There he’d been, building up an elaborate story of romantic tension between himself and Kuchiki-taichou and getting himself thoroughly wound up about it, when really Kuchiki-taichou was preoccupied over the memory of his wife and obviously not thinking about Renji at all. Renji had been stewing so much over that kiss ( _like a lovesick teenager_ , he thought contemptuously) that he’d just assumed it would loom equally large in his captain’s mind. But Kuchiki-taichou _wasn’t_ a lovesick teenager, and he had a complicated, busy life of his own to think about.

 

It occurred to Renji that he’d fallen silent, and that Rukia was watching him with a furrowed brow and anxiously pursed lips.

 

“Sorry,” he said hastily. “Long day. Hey, let’s drink up - I need to wind down a bit.”

 

-

 

Byakuya was trying to decide whether or not he ought to be feeling terribly, terribly guilty.

 

Having weighed up the evidence, he was leaning towards an answer in the affirmative.

 

In the first place, he was procrastinating. He’d finished reading up on the laws relevant to Itou Susumu’s case, but still he hesitated to draft his official recommendation. His conversation with Renji had supported his conviction that a light sentence was warranted – but then, of all the people with whom he surrounded himself on a regular basis, Renji was probably the _least_ qualified to offer interpretations of the law. Byakuya found himself slightly alarmed that he had apparently come to view his lieutenant’s free and easy approach to law an order as a helpful counterpoint to his own beliefs, and not as the dangerous liability he had seen it to be when he first accepted Renji into the Sixth. He was aware, too, that the Itou case was the very last word on trivial – nothing about it warranted the long hours of introspective reflection Byakuya had devoted to it, and yet here he was, still hesitating to decide on the boy’s fate.

 

In the second place, it was the anniversary of Hisana’s passing, and still he felt like he could breathe.

 

He’d risen early that morning to visit her shrine, as he always did, but when he stood before her picture he hadn’t felt the thing that had always marked this day, the heavy weight that settled in his chest and crushed his lungs until he could hardly draw breath. This morning, he had breathed in the cool morning air freely, and his heart was bathed only in a gentle, melancholy nostalgia.

 

He supposed that its absence marked the culmination of a process that had been underway since the day of Aizen’s defection. Admitting to Rukia the true relationship she held to his wife had been like lancing an infected wound; it had hurt, almost more than he could bear, but it was a clean, wholesome kind of pain and when it ebbed he felt lighter than he had in years. And in the weeks and months that followed that moment, he stopped seeing _Hisana’s sister_ when he looked at Rukia, started seeing _his_ sister. The aching cold in his bones had subsided and his lips had remembered, slowly but surely, how to smile.

 

And now, on the anniversary of Hisana’s passing, he could breathe with ease.

 

A year and a half ago, he would have been appalled with himself. Then again, a year and a half ago Byakuya would have been appalled by a good many of the things he did nowadays. And so he thought he should probably feel terribly guilty, for betraying his old convictions in this way (for how, he would have said back then, could he dare to breathe easily around the death of the woman who meant more to him than his own life?), but he couldn’t summon more than a passing twinge of half-hearted penitence.

 

What he did feel, loath though he was to admit it, was rather sorry for himself. This was something he despised in others and strove to banish from his own character, but tonight he was dangerously close to abandoning his dignity and wallowing in self-pity like a sulky youth.

 

Bluntly put, Byakuya was lonely.

 

Renji... _why_ had Renji kissed him? Did the man have no respect for the difference in rank between them, for the natural and necessary boundaries between captain and subordinate? Byakuya had been caught off his guard, hadn’t had time to stop him - hadn’t had time to steel himself against the ridiculous intensity of the longing that such a simple act of intimacy had awakened after so long without even the most innocent physical contact.

 

He thought he could have dealt with it easily enough if his preoccupation had limited itself to the physical. Unfortunately, though, the fondness he had come to feel for his lieutenant had added itself to the mix, complicating things further. It seemed that whenever Byakuya wasn’t guiltily remembering the taste of Renji’s mouth, he was having to upbraid himself for dwelling on some trivial interaction with Renji, on an amusing joke or an unexpectedly astute comment the other man had made. And now, apparently, Renji had become his unwitting touchstone in matters of ethics and leadership – things he knew full well he ought to be dealing with on his own, as captain of the Sixth Division and Renji’s direct superior.

 

Byakuya had all but forgotten what it was like to _want_. A full half-century in mourning had numbed his heart, acclimatised him to loneliness. That his inertia had been shattered so abruptly and easily stunned him. That the person responsible was none other than his _lieutenant_ added grievous insult to the injury.

 

And the only thing stopping him from indulging in the most shameful sullenness over the entire mess was the cold, hard knife-point of anxiety that assured him, if he allowed his emotions to run amok now, he ran the risk of being unable to get them back under control.

 

Which, considering his mistake earlier that day, was a risk he absolutely could not afford to run.

 

Byakuya gazed morosely up at the thin crescent moon visible outside his office window. The moon stared back rather sternly, and it occurred to Byakuya that the sun had set many hours ago now, and even by his standards it was getting late to be in the office. He wasn’t overly fond of the manor at the moment - the large, empty rooms were too impersonal for his present taste - but he couldn’t avoid home forever.

 

He made to rise, but at that moment a surge of familiar reiatsu swirled out in the hall .

 

_Renji...?_

Another moment, and then the office door opened and Abarai Renji came barging in, bringing with him a strong smell of sake and an air of fierce determination that made Byakuya feel slightly uneasy.

 

“Yes, do come in, Renji,” he managed, schooling his expression into careful neutrality.

 

Renji ignored him, staring at the floor and swaying very slightly where he stood. Byakuya waited in silence for a minute, then cleared his throat. Renji jerked his head up and looked straight at him, moving forward until he was right in front of the desk.

 

“Renji, exactly how much have you had to drink tonight-”

 

“You kissed me back.”

 

Byakuya fell silent, running over his options in his mind. Renji was clearly drunk. He had charged into the office uninvited _and_ cut Byakuya off mid-sentence, which suggested that he was unlikely to defer to rank or obey an order to leave. Ejecting him by force would of course be easy, but the idea was deeply unappealing - that was a last resort, in case things got wildly out of control. Reasoning with him would likely be a waste of time. Perhaps he should simply leave the office himself, and let Renji stay there alone until he got bored or passed out...

 

“You kissed me back,” Renji repeated, and his words were surprisingly clear. “And I want to know why.”

 

Byakuya closed his eyes. “Renji-”

 

“And I know it’s her anniversary and you’re really busy and don’t want to talk about it, but I keep thinking, ‘what if taichou wants me? What if taichou hates me? What if taichou never looks at me properly again?’ And today I thought, ‘maybe taichou doesn’t give a damn and he’s forgotten about it already.’ But I don’t think that’s true, taichou. Because earlier you didn’t want me to go, but then you told me to leave and-”

 

“ _Renji_.”

 

“-I just thought if I...taichou?”

 

Renji paused, hands frozen in the middle of a dramatic gesture; he still swayed slightly, but his gaze was steady and alert.

 

“Taichou?” he said again, his voice softer.

 

Byakuya took several quiet, calming breaths. A number of emotions warred in his chest, but irritation was pushing its way rapidly to the forefront. “Renji, you are drunk,” he said sharply.

 

Renji frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

 

“You are not thinking clearly,” Byakuya pressed on. “Go back to your room and get some sleep; we’ll deal with this later.”

 

Renji’s eyes narrowed. “No we won’t,” he said, and he sounded almost desperate. “You’ll just keep ignoring it. And I’m not that drunk.”

 

“I beg to differ.”

 

Renji sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, taichou. But I’ve just gotta find out one thing.”

 

“And that would be-”

 

And then Byakuya forgot to think, because Renji fairly _lunged_ over the desk and pressed their mouths together.

 

His irritation melted away. His better judgement, his sense of propriety went tumbling out the window. Renji tasted of sake and salt, and when Byakuya’s lips parted reflexively Renji deepened the kiss, flooding Byakuya’s senses with dizzying warmth. Instinctively he made to pull away, but Renji’s hands were fisted in his hair, and Renji was sucking none too gently on his lower lip; his own pulse pounded in his ears, urging him to give in to the sudden onslaught of sensation. And when Renji’s mouth moved lower, ghosting over his jaw, nipping sharply at his neck, he couldn’t help it; a small gasp escaped his lips and his hands rose up to Renji’s shoulders, gripping hard enough to bruise.

 

If Renji minded, he didn’t show it. Somehow he managed to bring himself over the desk without breaking contact, and in one smooth movement pulled Byakuya from his chair and dragged him to the floor, straddling him, tongue lapping hungrily at his neck. A bolt of indignation shot through the haze that had descended on Byakuya’s mind, and for a split second he fully intended to push Renji off him and put an end to this undignified spectacle - but then one of Renji’s hands slipped inside his kosode, eagerly caressing his chest, and a shiver of pleasure once again drove the thought from his mind.

 

He shoud stop this. He really should stop this. But Renji’s touch felt good, far better than it perhaps should have, and he wanted this so much - he settled a hand in Renji’s hair, stroking his scalp, allowing a quiet sigh to pass his lips.

 

“Shit,” Renji muttered against his neck. “Shit, taichou...please...please let me...”

 

“Renji!” He had intended to sound sharp; what came out was a breathy, pleading sound that made his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Or perhaps they were burning because Renji was tugging open his upper garments, mimicking the path of his hand with his tongue. Byakuya honestly couldn’t tell, and figuring it out wasn’t a high priority as Renji caught a nipple gently between his teeth, tongue swirling around the bud. His hands tracked lower, caressing his stomach, trailing across his hips and _oh_ -

 

Renji cupped his arousal, squeezing lightly through the fabric of his hakama. Byakuya moaned, hips arching helplessly into the touch. He dimly registered Renji’s other hand tugging at the ties of his hakama, struggling with his fundoshi, shoving fabric roughly out of the way - and then Renji’s hand closed around his cock, began stroking gently, and it was all Byakuya could do not to cry out as everything was reduced to Renji’s touch. His hips bucked and he sunk his teeth sharply into his lower lip. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like that, and he could almost have come just from those light, experimental strokes. But Renji’s warm, wet mouth was moving lower still, _oh god_ , tongue tracing the jut of his hip-bone, wild red hair tumbling over the pale skin of Byakuya’s stomach.

 

And then Renji lifted his head, held Byakuya’s gaze steadily and asked, “is this ok?”

 

Byakuya, past the point of coherency, could only moan his assent, fingers tangling in Renji’s hair, and he thought that he had never wanted anything so much in his life before.

 

He _did_ cry out when Renji closed his lips over the head of his cock, gently holding his hips to stop them from bucking uncontrollably. Slowly, torturously, he lowered his head, until Byakuya was completely engulfed by wet heat. When the tip of his nose touched Byakuya’s stomach he stilled completely for an unbearable moment - and then he began to move and _oh god, oh god_ -

 

His eyes closed involuntarily, head thrown back as Renji swirled his tongue around the tip of his cock, lapping up precome, and then swallowed again, taking him deep into his throat and humming softly around his length. Renji’s hands left his hips, and one of them snaked further between his legs to fondle his balls. Byakuya soon forgot to even try and stay quiet; gasps and moans of pleasure were slipping freely from his mouth, and the hand not anchored in Renji’s hair scrabbled vainly for purchase against the floor.

 

He was so close, so close. Renji’s pace was relentless, licking and swallowing and humming as though no-one in their wildest dreams could have hoped for such a task. Somehow the knowledge that Renji enjoyed this amplified the pleasure, and each small sound of satisfaction the other man made drove him further out of his mind.

 

Sobbing for breath, every muscle in his body trembling violently with pleasure, Byakuya forced his eyes open, and the sight of Renji’s head bobbing up and down over him nearly sent him over the edge. Renji had slipped his free hand into his own hakama and was working frantically, and then he _moaned_ , a desperate throaty sound, and Byakuya unravelled completely.

 

“Renji-” He tugged sharply at Renji’s hair, unable to formulate any further warning; instead of pulling away Renji plunged down, sucking in his entire length, and Byakuya gave a low keening cry as he came, hard, into the other man’s mouth, wave after wave of pleasure tearing through him.

 

Panting hard and trembling, he collapsed back against the floor, and through eyes glazed with satisfaction he watched Renji jerk violently, his face contorted with pleasure, as he came into his own hand with a loud, desperate cry.

 

For a time after that, the only sound in the room was quiet panting as they both caught their breath. As his heart-rate returned to normal, however, Byakuya began to take note of a few crucial facts.

 

He was sprawled out wantonly on the floor of his office. His uniform was only half on. He had just crossed all boundaries of respectable conduct with his lieutenant. Who was _drunk_.

 

And who was propped up on one elbow beside him, grinning from ear to ear.

 

“Shit,” said Renji, and his voice still sounded rather breathless.

 

“Er...indeed.” Byakuya sat up hurriedly, rearranging his uniform as well as he could. The fabric was hopelessly rumpled.

 

Renji’s smile slipped a little. “Shit,” he repeated, in a rather different tone this time. “Taichou, are you…are you about to take off again?”

 

Byakuya hesitated. “I’m not sure,” he admitted quietly. Things all of a sudden felt horribly, horribly awkward.

 

“I’m sorry. I guess...that happened without a lot of warning, huh?” Renji’s eyes were acutely anxious, and Byakuya felt a pang of guilt and uncertainty. If only he didn’t still feel so dazed - maybe then he’d know how to act.

 

“No, that’s...that’s fine.”

 

Silence reigned.

 

At length, Renji cleared his throat. “Well, um…I should probably go get cleaned up,” he said, his tone unconvincingly casual. “Kinda sticky.”

 

Another sharp pang. “Of course,” said Byakuya. He got to his feet, checking himself over to ensure his uniform wasn’t a complete disgrace. “I daresay I’ll see you tomorrow.” His voice sounded so detached it almost made him wince, but he managed to keep his expression neutral. He didn’t really know what else to do.

 

The walk back to the manor felt interminable.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kind of hard to finish writing - the latest Bleach chapter left me in a less-than-ideal frame of mind for producing the relatively cheerful smut I intended for the ending of this story. Pressed on anyway, which is probably good for me - I just hope it hasn't affected the quality of my work too much!
> 
> I will definitely keep writing Bya/Ren, but this is it for Protasis - thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited or left kudos! I am very grateful for such a warm reception. :)

Worst case scenario, thought Renji, he could at least spend the rest of his life jerking off to the memory.

 

“What’s gotten into you today?” demanded Rukia around a mouthful of rice. “When you said you wanted to eat lunch together, I assumed you were planning on acknowledging my presence at some point during the meal, you know.”

 

Renji heaved a sigh. “Sorry,” he said, not really meaning it but not caring for an argument. “Guess I’m pretty tired today.”

 

“Fair enough. You did drink quite a lot last night.”

 

“Yeah,” said Renji. “That’s bound to be it.”

 

They were sitting under a tree behind the Thirteenth Division training ground, watching the Fifth Seat leading his squad through their drills. Rukia had seemed happy enough to quietly watch their progress, and Renji had been taking advantage of the opportunity to indulge in a good sulk.

 

He hadn’t seen Kuchiki-taichou at all that morning. The note left on his desk had been formal but apologetic, informing him that he had been called away by unavoidable family business and instructing Renji to carry on as usual until his return. Renji, jumping to conclusions, had spent the morning in a state of considerable agitation, convinced that Kuchiki-taichou was avoiding him on account of what had happened the night before. As soon as he could get away from the Division he had gone to see Rukia, and learned to his chagrin that his captain’s absence was not, in fact, all about him. Apparently, some distant cousin of hers and the captain’s had barged his way into the manor that morning, irate about some kind of failed business transaction and demanding the help of the family in sorting it out. “And he’s friendly with the clan Elders,” Rukia had explained, “so it’d be far more trouble to kick him out than to just hear his case.”

 

That left Renji feeling fairly stupid, so he’d settled down with his lunch and begun mentally cataloguing the ways in which his next meeting with Kuchiki-taichou could go disastrously wrong.

 

He’d been up to item ninety-seven - honourable murder-suicide - when Rukia had interrupted him.

 

“Anyway,” she said now, “I’ve got something to run by you. I think nii-sama might have a lover. Do you know anything about that?”

 

Renji choked on his mouthful of salmon. “ _What_?” he spluttered, as Rukia thumped him patiently on the back.

 

“Well,” she said, “I saw him this morning, before he had his haori on, and there was a mark on his neck. I didn’t ask, of course, but I’m _sure_ it was a bite-mark.”

 

 _Shit_.

Renji’s first thought was that Kuchiki-taichou was going to _kill_ him for leaving a mark. His second thought was _oh my god I left a mark on him, that is so hot, damn it-_

 

“Renji. Why are you blushing?”

 

_Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it._

“Blushing?” he yelped. “Me? No way. It’s...it’s just warm out here...”

 

“Ok,” said Rukia, still looking slightly suspicious. “I just thought you might have noticed something, since you’ve probably seen him a lot more than I have recently. Come to think of it, an affair would explain why he’s been away from home so much lately...”

 

 _Don’t blush._ “Nah,” said Renji, more to distract himself from the onslaught of mental images than out of any desire to continue this dangerous line of conversation. “He’s just been in his office, like always.”

“Hmm.” Rukia looked thoughtful. “Maybe last night was the first time, then. It seems like pretty bad luck to take a new lover on the anniversary of nee-sama’s death...but nii-sama’s never been very superstitious, so maybe that wouldn’t bother him.”

 

 _Bad luck!_ Renji hadn’t thought of that. He cursed himself mentally. If only he’d just waited one day longer...now he’d probably jinxed the whole thing, doomed himself to eternal misery or something. Or perhaps that explained why things had been so awkward afterwards – the jinx was already taking effect!

Rukia cocked her head to one side. “You’re still blushing, you know.”

 

“I told you, it’s just the heat!” he snapped, frantically willing the burning in his cheeks to fade. It only seemed to make it worse.

 

“You know something, don’t you, Renji?”

 

“No! I know _absolutely nothing_ about Taichou’s sex life, as if I’d even want to know! And since when is it _your_ business?” Renji snapped, losing his temper in his embarrassment. He immediately felt bad about it, but it couldn’t be helped now...and maybe by lashing out he’d have scared Rukia away from the subject...

 

It didn’t look promising. On the contrary, Rukia’s eyes were widening, and Renji could almost _see_ the wheels spinning in her head as she puzzled out his defensiveness and his careless comments.

 

And he thought he could pinpoint the exact moment when Rukia put two and two together.

 

There was a long, tense silence, during which Rukia continued to scrutinise him and Renji felt his blush spread down his neck right across his chest.

 

“Oh my god,” she said at last. “You had sex with nii-sama.”

 

“No!” He could feel his face turning, if possible, still redder.

 

Rukia’s eyes were as large as saucers. “You did!” she insisted.

 

“I’m telling you, I didn’t! I mean, not really. I mean, ok...look, only a little bit! It was...it was an accident, or something. And if you tell anyone, I swear I’ll-”

 

Rukia cut him off. “Relax. Like I’d tell anyone, you idiot.”  She paused, looking him up and down as though she’d never seen him properly before. “Er…how was it?”

 

In spite of himself, Renji snorted. “Do you actually want me to answer that?”

 

Another pause. Rukia considered this for a moment, and then grimaced. “Absolutely not,” she said decisively.

 

“Well, good.”

 

Renji wished his blush would subside. His cheeks still burned stubbornly, but he sat up straight and squared his jaw with as much dignity as he could manage under the circumstances. Admittedly, it wasn’t much.

 

He was uncomfortably aware that Rukia was still staring at him.

 

“What?” he demanded, after a long and embarrassing silence.

 

Rukia gave a feeble sort of shrug. “It’s a fair bit to take in,” she said. “Are the two of you...I mean...”

 

“Er, no idea,” said Renji. “It just happened last night, after we left the pub - you went home, and I went back to the office and sort of...grabbed him, you know?”

 

“ _Grabbed_ him?”

 

“Well...yeah. I was kind of drunk, and I guess I figured he might be lonely given what day it was, so it was a good chance.”

 

“I...I see,” said Rukia, looking like she really didn’t see at all.

 

“But then afterwards it was kind of awkward.”

 

“What a surprise.”

 

“And we both just left without saying anything.”

 

“Naturally.”

 

“So things are gonna be pretty weird when he gets back from dealing with your family.”

 

“Probably.”

 

Renji sighed. “Are you going to say anything useful at any point?”

 

“Sorry,” said Rukia, but she was smirking slightly. “It’s sort of unexpected.”

 

“Yeah, you said that already.” Renji shovelled the last of his lunch into his mouth and stood up, still feeling rather pink around the ears. “Look, if we’re done here, I should probably-”

 

It was at that point that the alarm sounded.

 

-

 

The upside of this farce, Byakuya thought, was that it had put a stop to that ridiculous family meeting.

 

“How many?” He kept his face carefully schooled into an expression of indifference as his Seventh Seat explained to him the full extent of the emergency that had torn him so rudely from his duties.

 

“Three that we know of, sir. All new recruits, who graduated from the same class as Itou.”

 

“I see. And Itou is back in his cell?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she said. “He turned himself in approximately six and a half minutes after the jailbreak occurred. Said he didn’t want to be rescued, sir. I really don’t think he had anything to do with it.”

 

“So it would seem.” Byakuya turned away, gazing out of the office window and wondering if this whole absurd day was some sort of cosmic vengeance for his behaviour the night before. “How did the party manage to get past the guards?”

 

“Well, sir...” The Seventh Seat blushed a furious shade of red. “Oyama had an upset stomach, so he was in the bathroom, sir. One of them distracted Morita by crying for help just outside the cell block, and when he went to see what was wrong the other two slipped in.”

 

“I see.” How utterly incompetent. Byakuya wondered if this affair could possibly be more embarrassing; to think such a debacle had occurred within his own division. “What steps have been taken?”

 

“Fourth Seat Sasaki and his squad have taken over guard of the holding cells. Abarai-fukutaichou took a few men out to look for the traitors, and he said he’ll report back for further instructions if he finds them.”

 

“Very well,” said Byakuya. “Sasaki’s squad will remain on watch at the holding cells. Everyone else is to resume their usual duties, but stay alert.”

 

“Yes, Taichou!” The Seventh Seat bowed and took her leave.

 

Byakuya stayed by the window, watching as the trees outside waved their branches gently about in the breeze. He remembered Renji telling him yesterday of the rumour that Itou was set to be executed; obviously some of his friends had heard the rumour, panicked, and hatched a rather impulsive plan to rescue him. Byakuya was rather inclined to think that Kurosaki Ichigo shared some of the blame for this - the fame the brat had garnered by rescuing Rukia had doubtless influenced these young recruits, filling their heads with inane notions of heroism and personal justice. It was also true that the matter of Aizen had damaged general faith in the authorities and the laws of Seireitei. Yes, he could see how this had come to pass; there was nothing that could be done now except to extinguish the fire as promptly and effectively as possible, before anyone else could get the wrong idea.

 

He was pleased by Renji’s timely and appropriate response. Strictly speaking, his lieutenant should probably have waited for his word before setting out to search for the would-be rescuers; but he had anticipated his orders well, and his quick reaction should make this troublesome process much easier. Byakuya was confident that Renji would be able to find his quarry, and that he would know better than to engage them without orders. Indeed, such confidence was something he had never had with another subordinate. Renji was an asset to the Division; he was also fast becoming an indispensable working partner to Byakuya himself.

 

The thought trickled down to further inflate the bubble of guilty anxiety that rose in his stomach whenever he thought about the previous night.

 

Byakuya knew he was prone to impulsivity; he always had been. As a child he had driven his caregivers, his teachers – even his patient, stoic grandfather – to despair on a near-weekly basis. _When_ , they had demanded, fists balled with frustration, _will you learn to think before you act?_ As he grew older he had learned to behave more appropriately, not to leap into action on every minor impulse – but not perfectly. Far from perfectly. Too often his passions got the better of him, and when they did they led him unfailingly into trouble: into battles he shouldn’t fight, marriage against the family’s rules, affections he absolutely oughtn’t to harbour. On that front, Renji was just the latest in a series of proofs that he was shamefully incapable of governing his own heart.

 

As for Renji…well, he had no idea what Renji was expecting from him. Casual acceptance of their encounter? A declaration of love? Preferential treatment?

 

He could give none of those things. The third, in particular, made him feel slightly nauseous. And no – he knew his lieutenant better than that. The man was ambitious, but always honourable.

 

So then…

 

“Reporting!”

 

The door to the office slid open, and Renji bowed his way into the room. The bubble of anxiety in Byakuya’s stomach hardened into a heavy stone. Gathering up all of his willpower, he composed his face into a calm mask and forced himself to look up.

 

Renji stood before him with his eyes fixed on the ground; his cheeks burned a bright pink behind the partial curtain of his hair. Byakuya’s mouth felt dry, and he thought he should say something, anything, to ease the awkwardness – but then Renji spoke.

 

“We’ve found them, Taichou.”

 

-

 

Uchida Atsushi was a young man of integrity and honour.

  
Born in Soul Society to a low-ranking noble family, he had worked hard his whole life to bring honour to his loving parents. He had graduated from the Shin’ou Academy with excellent grades in all four of the basic Shinigami combat styles. He had joined the Sixth Division of the Gotei 13 because he admired Kuchiki-taichou, who was noble and strong and proud and unwavering, and had intended to serve his captain loyally and faithfully. Even now, as they stood before one another as enemies, he admired Kuchiki-taichou. But his resolve was firm - he had to do this. He had to protect Itou-kun.

  
“Kuchiki-taichou,” he said with the steadiest voice he could manage, “I am going to surpass you.”

  
A spark of irritation interrupted his proud determination when his bold challenge provoked nothing from Kuchiki-taichou save for a slightly raised eyebrow. Meanwhile, Abarai-fukutaichou, standing behind the captain in an unguarded posture entirely inappropriate to the dire gravity of the situation, made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough.

  
“Kid,” said Abarai-fukutaichou, “do you even have shikai yet?”

  
Atsushi felt his cheeks begin to burn, but he held his chin high. His resolve would not be broken by such taunts. “It doesn’t matter,” he cried, raising his blade defiantly. “I _will_ save Itou-kun!”

  
Captain and lieutenant exchanged brief glances then, and Atsushi got the distinct impression that they were sharing some kind of private joke.

  
It was too much to bear.

  
“So, you don’t take me seriously, then?” he continued, righteous anger welling up inside him. “Come at me, then. I will show you-” he paused, letting the tension build - “the true strength of my determination!”

  
Abarai-fukutaichou made that same strange coughing sound again. Kuchiki-taichou just blinked at him. Neither had drawn their swords.

  
“I do not doubt your determination,” said Kuchiki-taichou calmly. “However, you may find that it is unfounded. Itou Susumu is, as I believe he told you himself, in no need of rescue.”

  
Atsushi snarled. It was true that Itou had been reluctant to accept the hope that they offered him - apparently, he was already resigned to his fate - but as if that would stop his true friends from saving him! “I’m not going to let you kill him.”

  
“Nobody _wants_ to kill him,” said Abarai-fukutaichou impatiently. “Don’t you even listen? Itou’s a dumbass, but he’s hardly a serious felon.”

  
Behind him, Atsushi could hear his companions whispering. Then they stepped up to flank him, Hara on his left, Kimura-chan on his right, and he took courage in the strength of commitment he felt radiating from them.

  
“You’re lying,” said Kimura-chan, her voice trembling slightly with fury. “We know the truth. The jury’s rigged, and Itou-san is going to be executed to make an example!”

  
“An example of what, precisely?” asked Kuchiki-taichou, very slowly, as though under the impression he was speaking to simpletons.

  
“Don’t change the topic!” bellowed Hara, drawing his own sword.

  
“That is enough,” said Kuchiki-taichou. “Put your weapons down immediately.”

  
For a moment, silence reigned. Atsushi looked at Hara, looked at Kimura-chan, looked down at his own sword and then up at the two elite soldiers standing unarmed and impassive before him. A seed of doubt began to grow in his stomach.

  
“You heard the captain!” barked Abarai-fukutaichou. “Drop ‘em. Now.”

  
The seed sprouted.

  
With a rather pathetic clatter, three nameless swords fell to the ground.

  
As they moved back towards the Sixth Division barracks, bound in a line by kidou, Atsushi witnessed Kuchiki-taichou and Abarai-fukutaichou look at each other for a long moment, scarcely mindful of their sheepish captives. Who knew why, but there was something very anxious in Abarai-fukutaichou’s expression.

  
Eventually, Kuchiki-taichou’s lips curved slightly upwards - a subtle, almost imperceptible change, but striking in the warmth it carried. “Nostalgic, isn’t it?” he said.

  
Abarai-fukutaichou’s answering smile was anything _but_ subtle. “Sure is, sir,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Sure is.”

  
-

  
When Renji knocked tentatively at his captain’s office door that evening, he was bid enter almost at once. Kuchiki-taichou set down his brush, pushed his papers aside and looked up, waiting politely for Renji to speak.

 

Renji had seriously considered not coming here tonight. He wasn’t going to kid himself – he was nervous. He knew his captain well enough by now to have figured out his favourite coping mechanisms, and he was pretty sure that if he just said nothing, pretended the previous night hadn’t happened, then Kuchiki-taichou would obligingly press on with his patented ‘emotions don’t apply to me’ routine, and their working relationship would continue exactly as it had been. But…well, Renji had never been much for soul-searching, but he was also pretty sure he’d have a hard time dealing with that. And today’s bizarre comedy routine had helped him put his nerves into perspective – this really wasn’t the apocalypse he was dealing with. This was Kuchiki-taichou, who admittedly sometimes reduced his enemies to unrecognisable mounds of flesh and splintered bone, but who mostly sat in the office next door to Renji’s every day and filled out administrative documents with neat, precise handwriting. Kuchiki-taichou, who could make a brick wall look embarrassingly emotive, but who would spill his blood without hesitation for the people he cared about. Kuchiki-taichou, who had started out as the object of Renji’s bitterest envy and had somehow turned into the object of Renji’s most ardent devotion. That devotion would endure no matter what the captain decided to do about this weird… _thing_ between them. If a professional relationship was all they could have, Renji would deal with it. But he had to know it was the only option.

  
And so, he screwed up his courage. “I was hoping we could talk, Taichou,” he said.

  
Kuchiki-taichou nodded wordlessly and, rising, led Renji over to the seldom-used visitor’s couch and offered him a seat. His expression was characteristically unreadable, but Renji interpreted the gesture as a welcoming one, meant to set him at ease. It certainly wasn’t for his captain’s own comfort - the man sat as straight-backed as ever on the soft couch, not relaxing in the slightest. But that was probably to be expected.

  
Renji took a deep breath, trying to get his words in order now that he had obtained his audience. In truth, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say - everything that came to mind seemed far too presumptuous, far too _intimate_ to utter in front of the stern, dignified man sitting opposite him. He was surprised, however, when Kuchiki-taichou took the initiative and broke the silence.

  
“I would like to know,” he said, “what exactly it is that you want from me.” There was nothing hostile or accusatory about his tone; he sounded uncertain, perhaps even a bit lost.

  
“I was actually going to ask you that,” said Renji, surprised by his captain’s hesitance. Kuchiki-taichou looked almost _shy_ ; he’d seen this expression only once before, when he visited him in the hospital after the events at the Soukyoku. “I mean...isn’t my position kind of obvious, sir?”

  
Kuchiki-taichou shook his head mutely. Renji paused, but it looked like it was all or nothing, so he took another deep breath and pressed on.

  
“Well, I’m...I’m kinda head over heels for you, Taichou. You know, you’re my boss and I respect you, you’re stronger than me and I admire you, but I also really _want_ you...and I guess what I want is just to get as close as you’ll let me, honestly.”

  
To Renji’s surprise, the faintest shadow of a blush appeared on Kuchiki-taichou’s cheeks at these words; in spite of his anxiety, he had to fight the urge to smile. _There_ was something he had never expected to see in his life.

  
“There’s more at play here than what I ‘let’ you do, Renji,” said Kuchiki-taichou, and although his voice was steady, the blush did not fade from his cheeks. “As your direct superior, it is my duty to act responsibly towards you regardless of my personal wishes. It would be unconscionable to take advantage of my position of authority over you. My behaviour last night was inappropriate, and for that I apologise unreservedly.”

  
Renji took a moment to digest this. He had been more or less expecting all that stuff about duty and boundaries, but one part stood out - echoed in his mind and set his stomach fluttering. “Your personal wishes?” he repeated, warmth bubbling in his chest. “Is that your way of saying you’re into me as well, hey, Taichou?”

  
That faint blush grew ever so slightly darker. “Renji, weren’t you listening? My _personal wishes_ are not important. “I am your _captain_ , and we can’t just-”

  
“Sir.” Renji knew he was pushing his luck by interrupting, but the warmth in his chest was spreading, filling him with restless, daring energy. “We already _did_ , remember?”

  
“I have already apologised for that,” said Kuchiki-taichou, and for the first time his voice betrayed a hint of something that sounded like nervousness.

  
“But I don’t want you to.” Renji leaned forward, eager to put less distance between them, figuring it could only help - the pattern of their exchanges so far said that his captain found it much harder to prioritise reason and responsibility when they were close. “I don’t want you to be sorry - and anyway, it was me who started the whole thing.”

  
“You were drunk.”

  
“I knew what I was doing. I’m from the Eleventh Division, Taichou. If there’s one thing you learn pretty fast over there, it’s how to hold your liquor.” Noting that Kuchiki-taichou looked distinctly unimpressed by this line of argument, Renji changed tack. “I’m not asking you to stop being my captain,” he said. “I get that we can’t walk around the Division holding hands, or whatever. I’ll still respect your authority and follow all your orders. I’m pretty low maintenance. Long as I get to see you sometimes, I won’t complain.”

  
Kuchiki-taichou blinked several times. “Renji...we work together. You see me all the time.”

  
“You know what I mean,” said Renji, chuckling. Then he hesitated, but he had already taken the plunge - why not see how far he could push? “Look, Taichou. I reckon I’m talking way too much, and I don’t want to waste your time. I really just want to grab you again and see if it works for me this time, but that’s probably not a great habit to get into. Er, I mean the grabbing, not the bit that comes after. Cause that bit’s a good habit and, you know, I wouldn’t mind if we got into it more - I mean - well-” He took a deep breath, trying to get his thoughts back in line, and dropped his gaze to his hands. “Yeah. So I’m gonna leave it up to you, now that you know what I want.”

  
He was not expecting an immediate response, but the silence dragged on so long that eventually Renji chanced a look up. Kuchiki-taichou sat as still as a statue, eyes fixed on some vague point in the air between them; Renji could see that he was thinking very hard, but his expression gave nothing away.

  
The seconds ticked by.

  
And just when Renji thought he couldn’t stand the suspense for another moment, Kuchiki-taichou stood up, and Renji’s heart went plummeting straight down to his feet. He had misjudged, and Taichou was just going to walk away now, and they were never going to speak of it again-

  
“Renji.” The captain’s voice was perfectly even, betraying not the slightest hint of emotion. “Come with me, please.”

  
A shot of adrenaline raced through Renji’s veins; he froze, unable to meet his captain’s gaze. “Taichou?”

  
“The office is not an appropriate venue for this discussion,” said Kuchiki-taichou calmly, and swept out of the door.

  
Heart thundering, Renji rose and followed. He hardly dared believe what was happening. He was misunderstanding something - Taichou hadn’t actually _said_ -

  
The walk felt far too long. Kuchiki-taichou didn’t speak, and Renji didn’t dare break the silence. A hotly bubbling mixture of excitement and apprehension was churning in his stomach, and he was surprised the floor beneath him didn’t tremble from the fierce pounding of his heart.

  
Their destination turned out to be the captain’s quarters, tucked away in a private corner of the barracks. They were almost never used - Kuchiki-taichou preferred to live at his family manor - but the bedroom was kept tidy and fresh for those rare occasions the captain found it more convenient to stay with his Division. For a brief second Renji took in the spartan surroundings, which were no different from Renji’s own, save for the absence of Renji’s cluttered personal effects; then Kuchiki-taichou closed the door behind them, took Renji by the waist, pulled him close and kissed him.

  
It should have been painfully obvious that this was going to happen, but nonetheless Renji found himself frozen in place, stunned by the sudden contact. Kuchiki-taichou’s hands were warm where they gripped his waist; his head was tilted slightly upwards into the kiss, and it struck Renji for the very first time that he was actually _taller_ than his captain. He stayed stock-still, his arms hanging loosely by his sides; but then the captain pulled back, concern written plainly on his face, and Renji’s body caught up all of a sudden.

 

He felt giddy as he pulled Kuchiki-taichou back in, crushing their mouths together and twining his fingers through inky black hair. He still wasn’t completely sure this was real, but damned if he wasn’t going to make the most of whatever the hell was happening. His captain smelled like musk and leather and expensive soap, and the heat of their bodies pressed so close together made Renji’s knees weak. That feeling only intensified as firm, steady hands slipped in between them and began working on the ties of his uniform. Although his movements were calm and methodical, Renji could feel a hint of the same reckless, urgent reiatsu that had prompted him to kiss Kuchiki-taichou that first time; a hint of sharp, burning _need_ beneath his captain’s cool exterior. And when the final layer of fabric crumpled on the floor and he felt the cool air on his skin, Kuchiki-taichou broke the kiss to look at him, and Renji felt himself flush as slate-grey eyes raked over his body, lingering on the blatant evidence of his arousal. The hunger in that gaze caused any lingering self-consciousness to evaporate.

 

Renji’s own hands trembled a little as he began undressing his captain in turn. It really didn’t help that Kuchiki-taichou had turned his attention to Renji’s ear, gently sucking and nibbling at the lobe as his hands roamed all over Renji’s chest and back. Each touch seemed to send a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin, until it was difficult to concentrate on his task – but eventually he got there, and then it was his turn to stare. Kuchiki-taichou was _gorgeous_ , all sharp planes and pale, unblemished skin, slender in a way that belied his monstrous strength…and just as hard as Renji was already.

 

Renji’s vague plans of taking things slow went flying out the window. Patience never had been his strong suit. Right now he wanted this too badly – desperately wanted to feel his captain’s body against him. The sudden force of his need nearly bowled him over.

 

Kuchiki-taichou seemed to be thinking along the same lines, and Renji found himself being pulled down onto the futon, the captain’s weight pressing down on him. The touch of skin on skin drew a heated moan from Renji, who felt so hard it almost hurt. Taichou’s mouth was at his neck, tracing the lines of his tattoos with lips and tongue and teeth; a gentle hand gripped his hip, and then Kuchiki-taichou began to _grind_ against him, maddeningly slow and restrained.

  
“How do you want to do this?” Kuchiki-taichou’s voice was almost a purr in his ear, and he continued to slide sensually, torturously against Renji, their cocks rubbing together; Renji felt a tremor run down his spine, and he bucked his hips up, heard Kuchiki-taichou’s breath catch in his throat.

  
“I want you to...fuck me.” Renji flushed as the words left his lips, mortified by the note of desperation in his tone; but the quickening of his captain’s breath made up for it. He caught Kuchiki-taichou’s hand, guiding it down his body, _needing_ to be touched; he felt Kuchiki-taichou smile against his neck, and then his hand closed around his cock and it was all Renji could do not to come on the spot. His touch was far too light, stroking along his shaft, circling the head, teasing mercilessly. When he eventually let go Renji heard another whine leave his throat, and he arched up helplessly, unable to bear the loss of that delicious friction.

  
“So impatient,” Kuchiki-taichou murmured. He knelt up, and opened the cupboard behind the futon. There was not much in it - a spare uniform, and a basic kit of toiletries. He retrieved a bottle of lotion and poured a small amount into his hand. Renji moaned.

 

“Taichou-”

  
The rest of his words got lost in a loud moan as a finger pressed lightly at his entrance, teasing. Kuchiki-taichou captured his lips in another kiss as his finger slowly entered Renji, and _oh god_ the pace was excruciating; Renji squirmed against the touch, desperate for more.

  
“So impatient,” said Kuchiki-taichou again; his voice was rough with desire, his breathing slightly erratic.

  
“You don’t - _nnh_ \- don’t have to go slow,” hissed Renji. He was answered by the addition of a second finger, curling inside him, sending hot bolts of pleasure up his spine as the other man stretched him. When he was satisfied he pulled them out, and slicked his own arousal, taking his time, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as Renji positively _writhed_ with anticipation.

 

Finally, _finally_ he positioned himself at Renji’s entrance and pushed in, penetrating only the smallest amount before he paused.

  
“Renji,” he breathed, “is this- _oh_.” His words were cut off as Renji bucked forwards, burying him to the hilt in one surge.

  
“Fuck,” Renji gasped. “Taichou...” His head was spinning, senses overwhelmed by the blissful, aching burn of being filled. Kuchiki-taichou’s eyes had fluttered closed; his breathing was ragged, and when Renji bucked up again he gave a small broken groan. He seized Renji’s hips to hold him down, and stayed very still for a long moment that made Renji want to scream with frustration; then he began to move, and his pace was slow, but so forceful that Renji had to gasp for breath.

 

It really wasn’t going to last long. Renji could already feel the tension coiling within him, and his thighs trembled as he drew them up further. The change of angle elicited another quiet moan from Kuchiki-taichou, and the grip on Renji’s hips tightened almost painfully. Renji felt unbearably hard; impatiently he reached for his cock, which was leaking precome steadily as pleasure jolted through him with every thrust of Kuchiki-taichou’s hips. A hand caught his wrist, and he tried to protest, or possibly to beg his captain to touch him again, but all that came out was a needy groan.

 

“Already?” asked Kuchiki-taichou teasingly, but Renji did not miss the tremble in his voice, or his soft cry when Renji took advantage of his newly freed hips to thrust upwards again. Something caught fire in his captain’s gaze, and then all coherent thought vanished as Kuchiki-taichou began to thrust harder, faster; a slender hand wrapped around Renji’s cock, pumping in time with his thrusts. Renji couldn’t match him; could only dig his fingers hard into Kuchiki-taichou’s thighs and throw back his head and give himself over to the intensity of his own passion. Bright points of light danced underneath his eyelids, and then everything exploded in a violent rush of pleasure and Renji heard himself cry out as he came, hard and sudden, eyes rolling back in his head, spine arching involuntarily. Kuchiki-taichou’s teeth sunk into Renji’s shoulder to stifle his own cry, and the pain sent another sharp jolt of pleasure coursing through Renji’s trembling body.

 

Then Kuchiki-taichou’s hair was tickling Renji’s chin as he collapsed onto his chest, sweat-slick and panting for breath.

 

“Fuck,” said Renji, when he thought he could speak again.

 

“Indeed.” Kuchiki-taichou’s voice was muffled against his shoulder; he seemed totally unconcerned by the stickiness of mingled sweat and come that spilled across Renji’s stomach. Renji hesitated, waiting for the awkwardness to set in; but Kuchiki-taichou’s breathing gradually returned to normal and he simply rolled off onto his side, face still buried in the side of Renji’s neck, one arm draped comfortably over Renji’s middle.

 

At some point, sleep crept up on Renji, and the last thing he remembered thinking before he drifted off was that Taichou’s hair smelled really, really good.

 

-

 

Itou Susumu heaved a blissful sigh as he settled back into his own familiar, deliciously comfortable bed in his small, cosy quarters in the Sixth Division barracks. He hadn’t for one minute resented his stay in the holding cell – he’d deserved it, he felt, for breaking the law – but it was wonderful to be back in his own bed again.

 

The trial had been a lot less frightening than he’d expected. It had been held in a small room within the Second Division barracks, and consisted of Kuchiki-taichou, a panel of elderly judges with stern but honest faces, and two Second Division guards who stood off to the side of the room and minded their own business. Taichou had presented him to the judges, explained his crime and recommended the probationary period and pay reduction as an appropriate punishment. The judges had approved his recommendation immediately, and given Susumu a brief lecture on proper conduct before adjourning. Then Taichou had walked him silently back to the Division, advised him of the conditions of his probation – he was to obey the law, prove his commitment to the Division by working hard, and report to his probation officer twice a week – and then dismissed him.

 

Susumu was more concerned about the plight of Uchida, Hara and Kimura-chan than anything else. He’d heard about their arrest from his squad-mates when they’d come to congratulate him on his freedom: apparently Kuchiki-taichou and Abarai-taichou had caught them in person. Susumu didn’t think his friends posed much of a threat to anyone, and certainly not to Taichou; but treason was a serious crime, much more serious than Susumu’s own transgression, and they were likely to be punished much more harshly than he had been. Miyamoto-san seemed to think they were going to be executed – but Miyamoto-san always had been fond of gossip, and Susumu knew better than to take him seriously.

 

In any case, it couldn’t be helped now, and Susumu was confident that Taichou would treat them fairly. Now he just had to put it all out of his mind and do his very best work to make up for having inconvenienced Taichou and the rest of the Division.

 

He got up from the futon and flung open his window; a gentle breeze fluttered into the room, carrying with it the crisp scent of night air and the camellias in the courtyard below.

 

Soft voices floated up to him, and he watched quietly as the unmistakeable figures of his captain and lieutenant made their way across the courtyard. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they seemed happy; as they passed out of view Susumu heard Abarai-fukutaichou laugh, a subdued sound, but warm and infectious.

 

With a contented sigh, Susumu propped the window the rest of the way open and returned to his bed, settling back in comfortably. Yes, he thought: tomorrow, he would do his best. 


End file.
